Ascension Of The Villain

Chapter 165: Telepathy Secrets

Vyan's breath hitched. It was unmistakable, almost like a ghostly caress that sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned to Iyana, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and fear. "Did you hear that?"

Iyana frowned, puzzled by his sudden unease. "Hear what?"

"Someone inside just called my name," Vyan insisted, his gaze shifting towards the door of the solitary confinement cell.

Coming closer, Iyana crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. "That can't be. It's not possible to hear anything from inside there. Those walls are thick, you know? And secondly, how would this person even know your name?"

"I don't know." Vyan ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. "But I swear, I just heard someone call me Vee."

"Are you sure you didn't mishear?" Iyana asked, her tone gentler but still doubtful. "It could have been some other noise—"

"No," Vyan interrupted, his voice firm. "I clearly heard it."

As if to prove his point, the whisper came again, soft but clear: "Vee…"

Vyan's heart skipped a beat, and he glanced at Iyana urgently. "See! Again."

But Iyana's expression remained unchanged. "Again what? I am hearing nothing, Vyan."

"Come on, concentrate," he urged, his voice edging on frantic. "This person is calling me by my nickname. They know me."

Iyana pressed her lips together, focusing hard because he insisted, but after a few minutes, she shook her head. "There is nothing, Vyan. No sound, no voice, nothing."

A wave of frustration washed over him. "You know what? Open this door. I want to see who is inside."

Iyana hesitated, trying to explain, "Like I said, I don't have the jurisdiction for it. These cells are off-limits to everyone but the jailor."

"Then get him. Tell him to open this door," Vyan urged, the desperation in his voice clear.

"Vyan…" Iyana sighed, her voice softening as she placed a hand on his arm. "You are tired. A lot has happened today."

"No, Iyana," Vyan insisted again, his voice trembling slightly. "I swear I heard it."

They locked eyes, the intensity of his gaze breaking down her reluctance. After a tense moment, she finally gave in with a resigned nod. "Alright, fine. I will leave a letter for Jailor Thomas tomorrow morning before departing for Verna. He should grant you permission if it's me asking."

"I have to wait till tomorrow?"

She gave him a wry smile. "Sorry, but he must have left for home already. It's already past seven now."

Vyan's shoulders slumped in begrudging acceptance, the tension in his body not fully dissipating. "Okay… tomorrow, then."

The day passed slowly, with Vyan's mind racing over the whisper, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—was waiting for him behind that door.

He was sure that it was somebody he knew from the past. The voice was surely unfamiliar, but it had a fondness that Vyan recognized. However, nobody paid too much attention to his words due to everything that happened to him for the past few days. Not Iyana. Not Clyde.

At night, when Vyan confided in Clyde, his friend chuckled, dismissing it with a jest. "Maybe you mistook some screeching sounds like screee as Veeee," he quipped, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Vyan shot him a flat, unimpressed stare, but Clyde only sighed, his tone shifting to something more serious, almost pitying. "Look, you may not want to admit it, but with everything that's happened lately, including the Monster Hunt Festival, it's possible your mind's playing tricks on you. It's not uncommon. Just… take it easy. Let yourself unwind…"

Clyde continued to say more comforting words, but Vyan zoned out.

Nevertheless, Clyde's long lecture sowed seeds of doubt within Vyan. Could it have been just a figment of his imagination? A mistake born from exhaustion and stress?

Yet, something deep inside him refused to let it go. It nagged at him to uncover the truth.

The next day, Vyan found himself descending into the dim depths of the imperial jail, the air still thick with the scent of mold and misery. Jailor Thomas and Clyde accompanied him, their footsteps echoing through the narrow, stone corridors.

"Your Grace," Thomas began, his voice hushed as though the walls had ears, "if it wasn't you asking to see the cell, I wouldn't have allowed it. Not even for Vice-Commander Estelle."

"Thank you, Sir Thomas. Your cooperation won't be forgotten," Vyan replied, his words polite but his thoughts elsewhere, inwardly rolling his eyes at the jailor's self-importance.

At last, they reached the solitary confinement area. Thomas jingled the keys in his hand, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Which one was it you wanted to see?" he asked.

Vyan pointed to the first door, and Thomas chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, this one. You are in for a surprise, then."

The heavy steel door creaked as it swung open. Vyan held his breath, every muscle tense as he peered into the cell, expecting… what? He didn't know.

But what greeted him was…

Nothing.

The cell was empty. Its cold, barren walls stared back at him, mocking the anticipation that had tightened his chest. No signs of life, no trace of the voice that had called out to him. Just a hollow void that left him questioning his sanity.

"Why is it empty?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

The jailor shrugged, his expression unbothered as he said, "This room has always been empty, Your Grace. No one has been held here for months."

Vyan's eyes darted to the other doors lining the corridor, unease curling in his gut. "Uh, then can I see the other cells?"

Thomas hesitated, a flicker of something—fear?—crossing his face. "You could," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper as though speaking of a curse, "but the thing is… even I am afraid to open them. Seventy percent of those cells hold black magicians—the worst ones, if I may add."

A shiver ran down Vyan's spine at the thought, but before he could respond, Clyde's hand landed firmly on his shoulder, a silent command to stop. "Thank you, Sir Thomas," Clyde interjected smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. "We have seen enough. Let's head back up."

Vyan's frustration flared. 'Clyde, I get it, they are black magicians, but all forms of magic are blocked within these cells—' he argued silently, his mind brushing against Clyde's in a telepathic plea.

'I know that,' Clyde's response was sharp, his thoughts laced with a protective edge. 'But why would I risk you coming in contact with the worst of them? You know very well how badly your body reacts to dark magic.'

'But—' Vyan began, only to be cut off again.

'Don't even try,' Clyde's tone brooked no argument. 'You know I don't compromise when it comes to your health, so drop it.' Out loud, he added with finality, "Please lead us out, Sir Thomas."

Vyan muttered under his breath, "I don't know who the boss is anymore."

Clyde's voice softened, his words a quiet reassurance. 'Still you, but it's my job to keep you safe—and to stop you from doing anything stupid that leaves you coughing up blood in the end.'

A flicker of amusement crossed Vyan's mind, mingled with a tinge of gratitude. If only Clyde knew what I had done to defeat the Nocturnus Titan. The thought brought a smirk to his lips.

As they were leaving, Vyan couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder at the cell where he had heard his name whispered. A gnawing certainty dug into him—someone had been in there yesterday. He was sure of it. The thought refused to let go, clinging to his mind like a persistent shadow.

It was strange, though—only Vyan had heard the whispers. Not Iyana. She wouldn't have lied if she had heard something. But why had it only been Vyan?

As he thought about it, the realization hit him like a cold wave: the whisper had felt like it was coming from inside his own head. Could it really have been an illusion? Maybe he did need some rest—

But then, telepathy…

Just moments ago, Clyde and he had been communicating through telepathy. But the imperial prison was supposed to be fortified with countless wards and enchantments, designed to block any form of magical communication. If magic was truly blocked here, how were they able to connect telepathically?

Was it possible that the prison's defenses were a lie, meant to deceive visitors?

Vyan's eyes flicked to the jailor ahead of them, climbing the stairs with deliberate steps. Discreetly, Vyan glanced down at his own hand and tried to conjure a small ball of fire. Nothing happened.

He quickly calculated in his mind: perhaps this place only blocked mana usage over a certain limit. Telepathy was a low-effort skill, after all, though it was tricky to initially connect with another mage. Even Clyde and Vyan had struggled to connect when they first started.

But wait—if he had telepathy with the person in the cell, they shouldn't have been able to connect unless they had already established a connection before.

And then it hit him.

A memory surged to the surface.

"Vee! You won't believe the awesome magic skill I learned today! How come I was never taught this before?"

"What did you learn?"

"Telepathy!"

"What's that? A skill to make pastry?"

"No, you little snack monster. It's a magic skill to connect minds. You and I can talk to each other without anybody else hearing us. How cool is that?"

"Woah! That sounds so cool!"

Vyan gasped, his entire body breaking out in goosebumps. His chest tightened as his mind raced to a terrifying conclusion.

He whispered, his heart shattering at the thought, "No, it can't be…"